


Painting Pale Skin

by IneffableHusbands95



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consent is Sexy, Declarations Of Love, Did I Mention All The PAINT, Experienced John Watson, First Kiss, First Time, John Watson is a Tease, M/M, Messy, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Porn With Plot, Sherlock Has A Doctor Kink, Shower Sex, Smut and Fluff, There is paint involved, Virgin Sherlock Holmes, lots and lots of paint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29815434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableHusbands95/pseuds/IneffableHusbands95
Summary: John attempts to help Sherlock with a home renovation disaster, and makes a move he should have made a long time ago. The pair take a leap of faith together that involves a lot of paint, and almost as much pent up desire.Mostly shameless smut with a little plot and fluff mixed in.I really am going to hell for this one.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 27
Kudos: 98





	Painting Pale Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittieHill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/gifts).



> This fic is for Kittie, who is a wonderful beta, and an even more wonderful friend.  
> Here's to you babe, thank you for letting me take your plot idea and run wild with it. 
> 
> Many thanks also to the incredible Strange_Johnlock for all their help, and patient read overs at all sorts of ungodly hours.

It was eight in the morning, and John had just sat down with his morning coffee when they caught his eye. A series of deep purple splotches on the floor trailed past the living room and down the hallway out of sight. When he became aware of the acrid scent of fresh paint permeating the flat, he was immediately on his feet, cursing to himself.

_What is that sodding idiot up to now?_

John didn’t need to follow the paint trail; he already knew exactly where he was heading.

“Sherlock?” John called through the closed door, foot tapping impatiently.

There was a series of loud scuffling sounds followed by a hissed curse from the other side before a very colourful detective was finally revealed.

“Jesus, Sherlock. What on earth are you doing?” John wheezed, unable to hold back his laughter at the sight of the man before him. Every inch of him was splattered in paint, from his ankles to the dark curls that now hung limp against his pale skin.

John made a mental note to suggest Sherlock dye his hair that colour later, just to piss him off.

A streaked eyebrow arched at him.

“What does it look like? I’m painting my bedroom in a colour more inducive to productivity, John.”

_Do you mean the same colour as that shirt of yours that makes me want to rip it off you with my teeth every sodding time you wear it?_

“Would you like some help, perhaps? Before the flat ends up looking like the scene of Barney the Dinosaur’s murder?”

“If you insist, but I have it under control.”

John rolled his eyes and took advantage of the opportunity to rake his eyes over the taller man in a seemingly innocent manner.

“I can see that. Are you going to let me in, or not?”

Sherlock opened the door wider to permit him entrance, and when John stepped foot in the room, he felt his jaw drop. It wasn’t just the walls that had paint on them. The floor, the ceiling, and even the windows were all splattered with the dark colour. It was as though someone had been playing paintball in the room.

“What did you _do_? Just swing the tin around and hope some landed in the right place?” he sighed, suddenly put out at the realization that his entire Saturday was going to be spent cleaning up his flatmate’s mess.

Sherlock shot him a withering glare and shoved a spare roller at him from the nearby paint tray.

For the most part, they worked in silence, but after an hour of accidentally brushing against each other John felt like he was going to implode, and put on the radio. Sherlock didn’t believe in trivial ‘boring people’ things like Spotify.

An old favourite of John’s started playing a few minutes later, and John found himself forgetting where he was and automatically moving to it as he painted.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” Sherlock asked, screwing his face up at the doctor.

“It’s called dancing, Sherlock. It’s _fun_. You might have read about that word somewhere in one of your books?” John grinned, kicking it up a notch when the chorus hit again and laughing at Sherlock’s expressions as he danced in a circle around him, with no intention of stopping.

“I am perfectly capable of having fun, thank you very much, John.”

John snorted.

“Sherlock, your idea of fun is microwaving body parts.”

John suddenly grinned anew as an idea crossed his mind.

_Time to show him what fun really looks like._

Calmly John scooped up a handful of paint and smeared it across Sherlock’s face with his fingers.

He doubled over and laughed till his side hurt at the shock and indignation on the face of the man blinking back at him. While he was distracted, he felt his shirt collar being touched, followed by something cold and wet sliding down his back.

John yelped and jumped backward reflexively, causing him to knock into Sherlock, who in turn stumbled back into a ladder with the can of paint on it.

Before either man had a chance to react, the can tipped on its side, its entire contents raining down to drench them both in the paint. Both men stood silently for a moment, stunned.

Much to John’s surprise, Sherlock suddenly started laughing. It was a contagious full-body response that had John joining him until they both slumped to the floor, breathless.

“Here, let me help you with that” John grinned.

Before he could chicken out and stop himself, he went with his instinct and took off his shirt, purposely keeping eye contact with Sherlock as he casually undid it one button at a time.

He didn’t miss the way that the younger man fleetingly wet his lips when he thought John wasn’t looking, the way he turned his gaze to the floor shyly.

Without saying a word, John scooted slightly closer to him and began using the clean side to slowly wipe as much paint as he could from Sherlock’s angular face.

A few moments later he sat back, satisfied with his effort.

_Can he feel the way the air in this room is suddenly crackling, or is that just me?_

“You missed a spot, John.”

“Sorry, what?” John asked in fright when the other man’s deep voice broke the silence.

“Here. You missed a spot” Sherlock said slowly, pointing at a splotch of purple on his earlobe that John knew had to have been a guess. There was no way he could have known it was there without the help of a mirror.

Unsure of what he was up to, he played along. He reached for the shirt again and leaned closer to wipe it clean, purposely taking far longer than was necessary. They were so close now that John was dizzied by the smell of him. Despite them both being coated head to toe in paint, the consulting detective’s scent still came through as clear as day. A combination of old books, coffee, and soap made something stir to life within him. When John hesitantly sat back again Sherlock smiled, staring straight into John’s eyes in a way he had never done before in their entire year of cohabitation.

He reached for his own shirt, removing it in a manner that deliberately mirrored John’s earlier action. Was this heading where John thought it was?

_Here’s hoping._

Worried he would spook him, John remained perfectly still as Sherlock leaned forward and began dabbing paint off his face. The shirt treated John to an even stronger dose of the other man’s scent, and it took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to moan aloud as a jolt of electricity went straight to his groin.

Sherlock seemed to be studying him as he worked.

_Is he... doing that on purpose? Trying to make me crack first? Hot._

After dragging out cleaning his face long enough to make John decide that he _had_ to be, Sherlock put the shirt down and smiled innocently.

“Better?” he asked, his husky tone sending a shiver down John’s spine.

“Much. But you _missed a spot_ , Sherlock” John grinned teasingly.

“Oh really? Where would that be?” Sherlock whispered; brows raised in challenge.

“Right here” he replied, gesturing to his completely clean bottom lip.

Sherlock grinned and reached out, slowly tracing his thumb across it.

John decided he couldn’t take it anymore and pulled Sherlock’s face down until there were barely inches between them, hesitating a moment to look at him.

“What are you waiting for? A written invitation?”

John huffed out a shocked laugh and wasted no more time in claiming his full lips.

Given Sherlock’s lack of experience-at least to John’s knowledge- the other man showed no hesitation. They kept the kiss gentle and sweet at first, getting to know the feel of one another in a series of slow caresses. John slid a paint-slick hand up the other man’s chest and used his surprised gasp to slip his tongue into the detective’s mouth. 

Both men moaned into each other’s mouth at the warm, wet contact. 

Sherlock’s large hands came to rest in John’s short hair, adding even more paint to it. He tugged at it gently as they tried their best to consume one another, making him groan and the bulge in his pants grow bigger. 

He could scarcely believe that something that had remained nothing more than a product of his greatest fantasies for so long was actually happening. The desire to pinch himself and make sure that he wasn’t dreaming was _strong_. 

Sherlock pulled John into his lap, and both of them moaned when their matching erections made contact through their trousers. 

_There is no way this is real._

John began grinding his hips down into Sherlock’s, enjoying the long groan the younger man made against his lips as they built into a steady rhythm of sinful friction. Sherlock shifted their position so that he was lying on top of John as they rutted against each other on the slippery floor. 

A few minutes later John hesitantly stilled atop him. 

“As much fun as I’m having, lying down here is starting to _kill_ my back. I’m not a spring chicken like you anymore, Sherlock” he reminded him breathlessly, offering the flushed and half-ruined man beneath him an apologetic smile. 

_Curse getting older!_

“Of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think” Sherlock mumbled as he disentangled his long body from John’s, unable to hide the flash of disappointment that passed over his features. 

John put out a hand, and when Sherlock helped him to his feet the doctor clasped it and started leading him out of Sherlock’s bedroom.

“Where are you taking me?” Sherlock asked from behind him, and John had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing at the barely masked child-like hope in the detective’s voice.

“We need to wash off, don’t you think?” he practically purred. He glanced back at Sherlock as he towed him down the hall, and grinned in satisfaction at the way the younger man was soundlessly gaping at him, cheeks blushing crimson. 

His hormone flooded brain suddenly reminded him of Sherlock’s virginity, and he made a mental note to exercise some self-restraint, rather than turn into a sex-crazed maniac and scare him off. There was no way in _hell_ he was going to fuck this up after so much time spent desperately hoping this would happen one day. 

When they reached the bathroom John pushed Sherlock inside the shower and backed him up against the cold wall, viciously recapturing his swollen mouth with a renewed vigor. John started to trail his hands up and down the other man’s body in long strokes as they kissed, and Sherlock followed his lead.

John desperately wanted to _absorb_ him, for there to be no way to define where he started and Sherlock ended. What they were hopefully about to do would have to be enough. 

His roaming hands reached the top of the taller man’s trousers and stilled. 

“May I?” he asked softly, scanning Sherlock’s breathtaking eyes. 

“Please” Sherlock whispered, turning his head to kiss and lick at the side of John’s neck.

Wasting no time, the doctor made quick work of undoing the annoying piece of clothing, tossing it out onto the floor.  
The bulge that tented Sherlock’s black underwear was leaving a damp patch, and was much bigger than he had expected. His own member twitched in appreciation.  
Showing some welcome initiative, Sherlock reciprocated, albeit ridding him of his paint-stained jeans a little more awkwardly. 

Deciding that going first might make Sherlock feel a little more comfortable, John guided Sherlock’s hand to the top of his pants and covered it with his own. Very slowly, he pulled them down and off, his flushed cock springing free. He heard Sherlock gulp and release a breathy laugh simultaneously as he eyed it.

“Wow,” he croaked after a moment. 

John chuckled, and guided their entwined hands to the top of the last piece of clothing standing between them and total, delicious nakedness. Keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock’s, together they freed the detective’s own hard prick from its confinement. John licked his lips subconsciously as he took in the size of him, which was impressive and definitely exceeded his wildest dreams. 

_All this time he has been blessed with that, and never put it to proper use?_

John reached out and took both of their throbbing cocks in hand, turning on the shower and using a combination of the water and his own spit to create slickness as he began to stroke them both in unison. Both men moaned deeply at the sensation as John pumped them both languidly with his closed fist.

Sherlock leaned down for another kiss, and John happily obliged. 

“Will you let me _taste_ you, Sherlock?” he whispered sensually into the other man’s ear. 

Sherlock whimpered and nodded enthusiastically. 

Snickering, John lowered himself down onto his knees, taking the detective’s throbbing cock in hand once again and giving it a few lazy strokes. His eyes never leaving Sherlock’s, John slowly kissed a trail downwards from his pale belly, licking at each spot with an open mouth as he went. When he reached his target he smiled, bowing his head to take a single teasing lick at the precome beading at the slit before sitting back to grin at his victim.  
  


When Sherlock pouted down at him, the older man laughed, and without any warning wrapped his mouth around him properly. Sherlock audibly gasped, desperately canting his hips towards the source of wet heat. John took him in as far as his gag reflex would allow, which was much less than what he would have liked, and began to lick and suck as his head bobbed up and down on the impressive organ. He grasped at his bony hips as they bucked, trying to slow them a little so that Sherlock didn’t make him choke.

Sherlock’s head lolled back, and he grasped awkwardly at the shower wall behind him for purchase as he moaned and whined, seemingly unsure what to do with his hands.  
John smiled in amusement around his mouthful and guided them down onto the top of his head. Luckily for them, Sherlock’s arms were just long enough that he could reach despite the shorter man being on his knees.

He demonstrated with his free hand that the detective could set John’s pace this way, and he caught on quickly, using a fistful of the doctor’s hair to encourage him into a fast rhythm. Only a few short moments passed before Sherlock’s grip suddenly tightened painfully against John’s scalp. John immediately stilled.  
  
“John, I think I’m going to... _you know_...soon.” 

John slipped off him with a wet pop and chuckled at his awkwardness.

“Well do you want to, yet? Tell me what you want, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock blushed and trained his eyes on his feet.  
  
John frowned, concerned, and stood. 

“Jesus Sherlock, look at me.” 

_Fuck, have I screwed this up already?_

The younger man still didn’t move, so John cupped his chin and gently turned his head to face him. 

“Sherlock there is no shame in stopping here if that’s what you want. I’m not going to judge you. You just need to _talk_ to me.”

Sherlock finally met his eyes. “I don’t want to stop, John. I…I want…” 

“ _What?_ Do you have some fetish or something? I’m willing to go to any length to make this good for you, you daft sod.”

Sherlock took in a breath.  
  
“I...want you to take me to bed, specifically _your_ bed, and fuck me until I’ve forgotten my own name, John Watson.” 

John silently moaned, his cock twitching.  
  
_Sherlock Holmes talking dirty. This truly is a day of miracles._

He let out a soft laugh. 

“Christ is _that all_? That’s easily done, my love.” 

Taking the younger man’s hand, he lead them out of the bathroom, ignoring the pain building in his knees from the abuse they had just had, and lead them through the flat to his bedroom. He backed them through the doorway, stealing Sherlock’s lips in a violent kiss as his hands groped at every square inch of pale skin he could reach. 

When the backs of the younger man’s tall legs hit the end of the bed, John shoved him forcefully down onto it, sliding himself up to straddle him. Immediately he took hold of both of their cocks again, giving them a single brief stroke before resuming his assault on Sherlock’s mouth. While the detective was distracted by John’s lips, he gently nudged his legs apart with a knee and groped around inside his bedside drawer until he found a bottle of lube. 

He squeezed a small amount out and warmed it a little, before touching a single slicked finger to the puckered skin of his entrance. Sherlock moaned, making little appreciative noises as the doctor began rubbing it in circles. A moment later John very gently pressed just the tip of his digit inside the ring of muscle. 

Sherlock gasped into his mouth, freezing. 

“Shh, I’ve got you. This ok?” 

“Yes. Just be gentle with me, _Doctor._ ” 

_How is it even possible for anyone to make that word sound so filthy?_

John rubbed one hand up and down his thigh to soothe him as he carefully inserted his finger the rest of the way, pausing to give Sherlock a moment. When he seemed comfortable, he added a second. Sherlock groaned with pleasure as he began thrusting them in and out of his warm body, his hips leaving the bed in a desperate attempt to take them as far into himself as possible. 

When he was satisfied that he was ready, John withdrew his fingers.  
Suddenly remembering something very important that they had neglected to talk about, he rummaged through his drawer again and held up a condom in his hand.  
  
“I get tested regularly, and we know you’re clean because you haven’t been exposed to anything since we tested you after the...drug incident, so I’ll leave the choice up to you” he whispered, smiling softly. 

Rather than answering, Sherlock snatched it from his hand and threw it across the room, making John cackle in surprise.

“You’re ridiculous, you know. A simple ‘no thanks’ would have sufficed.” 

Reaching for the lube, he pressed a little kiss to the inside of Sherlock’s thigh and slicked up his painfully hard prick. He slid up Sherlock’s long body to position himself and gently touched the head of his cock to the other man’s entrance. 

“Sherlock, are you absolutely sure?” he whispered, scanning his eyes. 

Sherlock frowned at him. “If I wasn’t, why would I have asked for this in the first place? That would be quite ridiculous.” 

John rolled his eyes and sighed. 

“It’s called being caring, Sherlock. It also happens to be quite important to maintain a little thing called _consent_.” 

“Well, you have it. So _please_ don’t make me wait any longer” he said in a small voice, cupping John’s cheek. 

John smiled and gave his lips a small peck. “Alright, then.” 

He reached for Sherlock’s hands, entwining their fingers. 

“Deep breath for me, love.”

On Sherlock’s shaky intake of breath, John pushed his tip inside, crying out in unison with the younger man at the sensation before pausing to let him adjust to the intrusion. The doctor waited for his lover’s white-knuckled grip on his hands to loosen before he began to slowly slide in further inch by painstaking inch, stroking his slightly flagging cock to distract him from the burn. 

When he was finally fully seated inside him, he took a moment to commit every detail of the sight before him to memory. The impossibly beautiful man beneath him was bathed in midday sunlight, making him look as though he was glowing from within. His normally perfectly coifed curls were plastered limply to his skin, still dripping water from the shower. Glittering eyes that he was sure would be the literal death of him one day were gazing up at him trustingly, pupils blown wide with lust. 

Sherlock claimed John’s lips between his as the doctor began to slowly rock back and forth inside him, coaxing his tongue into dancing with his. 

“Fuck, you’re so bloody _tight_ ” John moaned as he picked up the pace, reveling in the delicious heat of Sherlock’s channel. 

“Shh, John. Less talking, more fucking.” 

John laughed and they settled into a fast rhythm, Sherlock arching up to meet him thrust for thrust. 

“Now let's see, it’s been a while, but…” John trailed off, changing position slightly to readjust his angle. His very next deep thrust hit Sherlock directly in the prostate, and the man beneath him screamed out a series of colourful curses, hands twisting in the sheets. 

“Ha! Bullseye.” 

Sherlock looked at him, eyes wide with wonder. “John it is _imperative_ that you do that again” he wheezed.

John was all too happy to oblige, driving blow after blow directly into the detective’s sweet spot, Sherlock wrapping his legs around John and holding on for dear life as he cried out his name over and over.  
  
“ _Fuck_ yes, John! Just like that!” 

It wasn’t long before John was close, but he knew Sherlock was even closer. 

“Oh god, John, I’m going to...going to….” he trailed off, his nails digging into John’s back. 

“Going to what? Say the bloody _word_ , Sherlock!” John hissed. 

“Come! I’m going to fucking _come!_ ” Sherlock whined. 

_Dear lord have mercy on my soul._

“Off you _pop,_ then” John whispered dirtily into his ear, and that was the final straw that sent Sherlock over the edge. 

He came hard between their bellies with a guttural cry, pulse after pulse of pearly white seed spurting from him until he collapsed limply against the bed beneath John. The sensation of his muscles contracting and squeezing around him was all it took for John to find his own release, screaming Sherlock’s name as he filled him up, his vision fading out for a moment. 

When he came back down to earth he smiled and flopped down atop Sherlock, spent and sated. When breath returned to his lungs he kissed him, long and slow.

“You alright? I got a little carried away, sorry.” John asked with concern when they drew back for air, transitioning into doctor mode. Sherlock nodded quickly when he realized he was waiting for an answer. 

“John, why the hell did we wait so long to do this?” 

John sighed, running a hand through the patch of dark hair on the other man’s chest. 

“A combination of fear, denial, and stubbornness, I’d say.” 

He gently slid out of Sherlock, both men stopping a moment to take in the evidence of their lovemaking trickling out of him. 

Sherlock reached down and swiped a finger through it, bringing it up to his mouth to lick clean.

“Good _god,_ Sherlock.” 

Reluctantly he stood and disappeared from the room, returning a few moments later with a warm washcloth. 

He was halfway through cleaning them both up when Sherlock cleared his throat. 

“John?” 

“Mmm?” 

“Let’s not waste another second ever again.” 

Warmth spread from John’s heart to his toes. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Sherlock.” 

Suddenly they became aware of the sound of very familiar footsteps coming towards the room, and John _just_ managed to pull the sheet over them both before Mrs. Hudson paused in the doorway, mid knock. 

“Bloody _finally_. I was getting ready to lock you two in a broom closet or something” she sighed as she took in the sight of the two blushing men in bed together.  
John gaped at her in disbelief. 

“Anyway, I’ve left a mop and bucket in the kitchen, and if all that blasted paint isn’t gone by tomorrow I’m adding it to your rent. Not your housekeeper, boys” she smiled sweetly, before turning to plod back down the hallway. 

When she was gone, both men looked at each other before bursting into a fit of side-splitting laughter, clinging to one another. 

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes.” 

Sherlock took John’s hand in his and kissed the back of it tenderly.  
  
“And I you, John Watson.” 

“So, have you forgotten your name?” 

Sherlock pretended to be deep in thought.  
  
“Terry?”

John snorted and nestled in against him, both men closing their eyes. 

If he woke up and this was all some dream, he was going to be _so_ pissed.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive feedback is welcomed, but as always if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Don't make me release Kittie on you.


End file.
